


It's Like the Sun Came Out

by voidargxnt (marveladdict)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Erica Reyes, Alive Vernon Boyd, All-Knowing Deaton, Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Attack, Derek is a Good Boyfriend, Good Peter, How Do I Tag, Lydia is Perfect, M/M, Mage Stiles Stilinski, Magic-Users, Oblivious Derek, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Allison's Death, Post-Season/Series 03, Scott's an ass, Stiles Stilinski Has a Crush On Derek Hale, Witchcraft, Witches, because bitchy witches, but its not his fault
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-09-20 12:25:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9490913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marveladdict/pseuds/voidargxnt
Summary: One bear. One stupid, fucking bear is all it took for shit to hit the fan once again in Beacon Hills. And this time, it ends up with Stiles facing Death in the face while a witch rips some of Derek's supernatural healing and shove it into Stiles to save his life. Now, he's finding out that he's a witch himself and is going to be tutored by a girl his age while Derek lurks from the tree line. Fan-fucking-tastic. Oh, and Scott's a total asshole now; the nogitsune can totally go fuck a cactus.





	1. chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [White Rabbit](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6284149) by [BlueEyedBetaMeow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedBetaMeow/pseuds/BlueEyedBetaMeow). 



> not beta'd

The first day of Thanksgiving Break starts off cloudy and cold, gusts of wind sweeping through Beacon Hills, making the air much colder than it is. Dark clouds have threatened for rainfall all day, the sound of thunder rumbling since early this morning and well into the afternoon. Stiles hasn’t left his bed since he got up for breakfast.

The Sheriff has taken a double shift at the station, having left after breakfast to go to the station, leaving his son to his own accords for the day. He said that with the drastic fall in the number of deputies that he would be taking up shifts until there were more. Noah kept repeating to Stiles that it wasn’t him that placed the bomb, that it was the Nogitsune, that Stiles was innocent. But Stiles knew better. The aging and careful look in his father’s eyes said otherwise. And he knew that it was his fault that the Nogitsune latched onto him, that so many people in Beacon Hills were dead. It’s his fault that Allison was dead. Allison was dead because he couldn’t close the door in his mind like she and Scott had. Lydia’s boyfriend and Scott’s first love were dead because of him. _Allison was dead_.

Stiles had taken all the spare blankets he could find through the house and piled them one on top of the other, burying him in a mountain of cotton. He hasn’t moved from his cotton cocoon once, just wanting to wallow in self-hatred and bone-crushing guilt forever and not be bothered. No one other than Lydia has talked to him since the break had started, not even Scott with his insistent texting. It just proves that everyone blamed him for what happened, for everyone’s pain and Chris leaving, nearly taking Isaac with him.

Stiles turns over onto his other side, now facing the rest of his room instead of the wall. His eyes scan the dark room for a moment before closing them again, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. Despite being encased in a mountain of blankets, he still feels like ice. He brings his head underneath the pile of cotton and lays still.

The sound of shattering glass makes Stiles jolt up, his eyes on his bedroom door. Heavy grunts and thudding can be heard from what Stiles assumes is the living room, his heart thundering in his ears. Slowly and hopefully quietly, he pushes himself out of bed and over to the door, placing his ear just an inch or two away from the door. A couple of grunts are made and he still doesn’t know what’s in his house but Stiles knows that it’s not a human. He slowly turns the knob and carefully opens the door, his heart nearly in his throat. His breaths are shaky as socked feet softly press against the wood floor as he goes into the hallway. Stiles waits a second, listening to whatever is in the living room before slowly peaking around the corner. His heart drops to his stomach.

There’s a fucking grizzly bear in his kitchen and it came in through the now broken sliding glass back door.

The bear whips his head around to where Stiles is peaking from and Stiles pulls his head back as fast as he can but he knows the bear saw him. Slow but heavy steps make their way over and Stiles is frantically looking around but all there is, is a screened in window at the end of the hallway and he had put the screen back into his window as well. Fuck. There’s only one thing left to do, and even that has a very low chance of keeping him unscathed. He checks his sweatpants pocket for his phone and feels the lump next to his thigh. Well, who the hell is he going to ask for help? Not his dad and definitely not Scott. Lydia would drag the pack into it and that is no bueno. Everyone else he knows is either gone or hates him. Except for one. He pulls out the phone and shoots a text off to him before he has second thoughts about it.

_Bear in house. Rabid. Help._

He puts the phone back into his pocket and takes the slightest peak around the corner again and sees the bear has stopped to sniff the jar of peanuts on the coffee table a few feet from the hallway. The door is right across from the bear and diagonal from Stiles but it’s his only shot. Without another thought, he takes off past the bear and out of the door, catching the attention of the rabid bear on is way out. His feet pound into the grass as he makes his way for the woods, hoping to lose the animal there and keep it away from everyone else. The sound of snarling and heavy grunts behind him are the only thing that keeps him pushing. Looks like Finstock’s suicides really do come in handy.

He’s well into the thicket when he trips on a root that sends him face first into the ground. Stiles quickly pushes himself back up only to receive a pawful of claws slashing across his back, forcing him to his knees. A gutted shout is punched from his lungs as fire is raked down his back. Stiles turns to face the animal as it stands on two legs, towering over the teen. He knows that there is no way that he is getting out of this alive. The bear descends on his fragile frame, shattering his left arm when he uses it in a vain attempt to block the blows. Jaws latch onto his left shoulder, shredding through the skin and muscle as it pulls away. Guttural cries leave his lips as fire is ignited in his veins.

He blacks out before the grizzly is even close to being done with him.

 

* * *

 

When Derek receives a text from Stiles at five-forty that night asking for help from a rabid bear, his thoughts are why Derek? There are others that Stiles has lined up way before Derek in times of need. So why now? It takes a moment before those thoughts leave his head as the words sink in. There’s a bear in Stiles’ house, a rabid bear.

“What’s wrong?” Erica asks, her eyes trained on the alpha from where she sat on the couch between Cora and Boyd.

"Stiles is in trouble,” is all Derek says before he’s grabbing his jacket and keys, making the betas spring up.

“We’re coming with you,” Cora states as she watches her brother shrug on the leather jacket.

“No, stay here,” Derek bites back while he pulls on his boots.

“Stiles is our friend, and if he’s in trouble then it’s better to have more,” Erica walks over to the shoe rack, shoving her feet into her own pair of boots. “Why is he in trouble?”

Derek sighs, “There’s a bear in his house. That’s all I know.”

“Well shit, c’mon,” Cora is out the door with the other two before Derek can protest.

The pack quickly climb out of Derek’s car as soon as it pulls into the driveway. The eerie silence makes all of them uneasy as they quickly make their way into the house, only to find broken glass from the door and no Stiles. But Derek quickly picks up on Stiles’ scent and runs off, his pack hot on his heels. It doesn’t take long to hear whimpers and tearing of flesh, making Derek’s heart race in fear of what he’s going to find. They all skid to a stop when they burst through a wall of vines and leaves. Derek swears that his heart stops.

A large grizzly bear is making a chew toy out of Stiles’ left arm, pulling at the muscle and bone. The heavy scent of blood smacks him in the face and Derek does the only thing he can think of to do. He lets go. It’s like a switch was thrown when he saw Stiles laying on the ground, bloody and unconscious. It made Derek’s wolf feral, snarling and snapping for release to _protect_ and _attack_. A strange feeling pulsed through him as he attacked the bear, something that made his head foggy and clear at the same time. It was powerful and weakening at once and it was addicting.

In one swift motion Derek pushes the bear off Stiles’ body, sending the animal flying into a tree. He’s snarling and seething as he watches the bear get up. The wolf under his skin is vibrating, anger radiating from him as he watches the beast get ready to fight. He glances behind him, watching as Cora and Erica kneel next to Stiles, their arms black as they try desperately to drain his pain. Boyd stands in front of them, acting as a shield from them and the bear, his eyes gold. Derek’s eyes flick back to the bear, watching as it stands on its hind legs and release a roar. He roars in return and holds his claws out at his sides, his feet widening to attack. He takes the first move and charges at the bear, pinning it to the tree and starts slashing at its chest. The bear tilts its head down and locks its jaws where Derek’s neck meets his shoulder, pulling him from it and shakes him. Fire erupts in Derek’s shoulder as he is shaken like a rag doll and thrown to the ground. The skin and muscle are already beginning to heal as he stands up, teeth bared.

The bear takes the first move this time, landing on all fours and charging right at Derek. He sides steps and slashes at the grizzly’s neck, causing it to stumble before turning back around. Blood drips from the bear in various areas from Derek’s claws.

“Derek, stop fucking around! We need to get Stiles out of here,” Cora’s voice pulls him out of the haze, making him snap his head to where Stiles now lays in his younger sister’s lap, she and Erica still draining his pain. He turns back around and starts walking up to the bear, and with one fluid movement, slashes open its neck. The animal falls to the ground as blood pours from its neck. It dies within seconds.

Derek turns back around and the severity of the situation sinks in. Stiles is pale, more so than he usually is and his lips have a bluish tint to them. His blood covers every surface around him; his clothes, the ground, his sister’s and Erica’s arms and hands. He needs help, now.

He kneels and scoops the boy into his arms, pulling a pained whimper out of Stiles’ lips. He looks to Cora.

“Get the keys out of my pocket and start the car,” he then looks at Erica. “Call Melissa to get a room set up for him.”

“Got it,” the two say in unison and sprint off back to the car, Erica pulling out her phone. Boyd looks over at Derek.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks.

“Call Scott and tell him to go to hospital. I want to know why Stiles texted me instead of him. After Scott call the Sheriff,” Derek tells his beta and Boyd nods. The two begin their jog back to the car as Boyd explains what has happened to Melissa and the Sheriff.

Once they get to the car, Cora is waiting in the driver’s seat with Erica waiting in the passenger side. Derek climbs into the backseat, not bothering with seatbelts as Cora peels out of the driveway and gunning it down to the road. Stiles’ breath is shallow and quick, his heart beat stuttering and light. Derek begins to prepare for the worst when an idea smacks him square in the chest. Cora’s eyes flick to the rearview mirror, noticing her brother’s heart skip.

“What is it?” her voice is eerily calm given the situation at hand. Much like how their mother was. Derek’s eyes lock with Cora’s.

“Lilith,” is all Derek says before Cora’s eyes widen.

“Do you really think that she would want to help us? Even after the fire?” Cora’s voice is hard as she remembers the girl.

“She’s our only shot at saving Stiles.”

“Bullshit, what about the bite?”

“He’d rather die than receive the bite and you know that,” Derek bites back, remembering when Peter told him of how he had offered the bite to the teen, but he refused it. “We’ll take to Stiles to the hospital and while we’re there I will contact her.”

Cora’s eyes are unsure but she sighs anyways. She gives a nod before the car falls into silence save for Stiles’ labored breathing. It’s a waiting game now.

 

Melissa is standing at the back of the hospital when the pulled up, a gurney waiting for them. Her eyes widened and jaw dropped when her eyes laid on Stiles, her body now reeking of sadness.

“Oh my, God,” her voice was soft as she took in the body of a boy that she considered a second son. “Follow me.”

The four followed her as she led them through the back halls of the building, bringing them into a room that looks like it hasn’t been used in a while. She hooks Stiles up to an IV and bandages and stitches up what she can, hoping to stop the blood flow. Stiles has yet to wake up.

It doesn’t take much longer before the Sheriff comes rushing in, Scott and the rest of his pack following right behind him. Noah takes one look at the broken form of his son before whipping over to Derek, his eyes fiery.

“What the hell happened to my son?” the man’s voice dripped with anger as he stared at the alpha.

“Stiles texted me an hour ago, saying that there was a bear in the house. We went over and Stiles wasn’t there and we followed his scent into the woods. We found him being mauled by a grizzly bear before I killed it,” Derek’s words are monotonous as he explained the events to the boy’s father.

“There are no bears in California,” the man retorts, not wanting to believe what he’s hearing.

“Bears can wander into the state borders,” Lydia chimes in and everyone’s head turns to the banshee, whose eyes were locked on Stiles. She reeks of sadness and worry. “It’s not Derek or any of his pack’s fault.”

“Why didn’t Stiles text any of you guys? Why did he resort to alerting me?” Derek asked, pulling their attention. While finally being able to take in who and what is around him, he realizes that Scott is glaring at Stiles’ broken figure and anger and disgust is rolling off him.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Cora seems to have seen it too because she’s now glaring at the young alpha. “Are you seriously blaming Stiles for Allison’s death? Are you that much of a child?”

“Because he did kill Allison! It’s his fault she’s dead along with Aiden,” Scott seethes and fury rises up in Derek.

“You’ve gotta be pretty fucking dense to think that Stiles deliberately killed them,” Derek’s words are low, the edge of a growl in his voice. Scott growls at the older alpha, his teeth elongated. “If you’re not going to try and help us, then get the hell out.”

“Scott, honey, you’re going to have to leave,” Melissa’s voice pulls Scott’s attention to her. She’s pissed at her son and it’s obvious. Her son is disowning his best friend for something that he had no control over.

“Mom,” Scott starts but she just shakes her head.

“I expected you to be a better person and accept that Stiles is innocent but I guess not,” her words slice through the alpha, making him whine. Isaac and Lydia part, leaving a path for Scott to leave. “Leave, Scott.”

Scott looks to his friends for backup but quickly realizes that he has none. With a huff, Scott leaves.

“Melissa, we are going to take Stiles to where he can get help. What can you do to make sure he survives the trip?” Derek asks the woman, bringing attention back to what’s important.

“I can keep him hooked up to an IV with morphine but that’s the best I can do for the time being,” she explains, her words closed off.

“Alright then, do what you need. I’m going to make a call,” Derek leaves the room, phone in hand as he dials Deaton’s number. It rings three times before the former emissary picks up.

“Hello?”

“Deaton, it’s Derek. I need you to do something for me,” Derek leans against the wall outside of Stiles’ room.

“Of course, what do you need?”

“Are you still in contact with Lilith?” Derek’s words are hopeful.

“The last time I talked to her was a few months ago, what could have possibly happened that you need Lilith?” Deaton is tellingly worried now, more so than he usually lets on.

“Stiles got hurt, bad. He won’t make it without her,” pain makes its way into Derek’s voice as he explains to the vet.

“Oh my, it won’t be for certain but I can very well try.”

“Thank you,” Derek says before the line cuts off. All he needs to do is wait now.

Derek walks back into the hospital room where Melissa is finishing checking Stiles wounds. All heads turn to him.

“We are going to take Stiles to someone who can help us, if she agrees,” the Sheriff looks over to Derek.

“What? Who could possibly be able to take care of my son after this?” his voice is pained and full of worry.

“Someone who has pulled someone from the brink of death before.”

The Sheriff sighs and sits in a chair, resting his head in his hands. It takes a moment but he does nod.

“Fine, but I’m coming with him,” John states as he stands up, he demeanor changing from a distressed father to an on-duty sheriff in a split second. Derek nods, his phone buzzing in his pocket. He quickly pulls it out, answering without looking at the screen.

“What did she say?”

“I’ll do it, because I owe your family,” a soft voice flowed through the phone and Derek’s eyes widen. “Because I owe your mother.”

“Lilith? Is that you?” Derek asks low, eyes glancing around everyone.

“I’ll send you my address,” is all she says before she hangs up. The room goes silent while everyone waits for Derek’s orders. He pulls his keys out of his pocket.

“Well, let’s go.”

 

* * *

The drive to the outskirts of Beacon County was tense as everyone in Derek’s car listened to Stiles’ labored breathing. With Derek, there was John, Stiles and Cora; Stiles laid in his father’s lap in the backseat. Lydia, Isaac, Erica and Boyd were following in Lydia’s Honda Civic right behind Derek. The trees became denser as they drove further to the county border, the air shifting from the polluted city gunk to soft, clean forest scents. It reminded Derek of before.

They turned onto a gravel drive off State Road 44, the crunch of rocks underneath the FJ’s tires telling them they’re close. It doesn’t take long before a small brown cottage appears through the trees, a single old pickup truck parked next to the house. As they pull up closer, Derek can see a girl sitting on the porch swing dressed in a floral dress. Her soft brown eyes already trained on the car pulling towards her house.

The group parks their cars, Derek quickly getting out to help John out of the car. He takes Stiles from the man’s arms, jumping slightly when he sees Lilith only a couple feet away from him. She’s short, only reaching to Derek’s shoulders. Her hair has been put into a messy bun, soft brown locks poking out of it. Memories smack into Derek when their eyes meet.

“Follow me,” she turns around and starts walking towards the house, the pack following right behind her. The steps of the cottage creek from use and age as they make their way up the porch and into the house. The blinds have been drawn and candles lit in the living room. The candle flames rise higher when Stiles is brought into the house, Lilith’s head snapping over to Derek, her eyes wide. “His spark is still reacting to the magic around him. That’s good but we need to act now if we are to save him,” Lilith tells the group as she pulls back the rug, revealing a pentagram.

“What kind of shit is this?” John asks at the same time Lydia asks, “How old are you?”

Lilith’s eyes glance between the two.

“I am a solitary and eclectic witch. I practice my own kind of magic, taking bits and pieces from other types of magic and I don’t belong to a coven,” she answers first, looking at the Sheriff before glancing to Lydia. “I am seventeen.”

"How the hell are you living by yourself?” John’s words bite and Lilith narrows her eyes at the man.

“If you want to keep your son alive, then I suggest that you don’t criticize how I live,” her words are dark and biting. John nods and steps away. Lilith then looks to Derek. “Bring him here.”

Derek steps into the pentagram, kneeling beside the girl, holding Stiles close. Her eyes flick to his, brown meeting green. It’s like she was reading his mind as her face softened into one of sympathy.

“Can you help him?” Derek’s voice is low and it trembles slightly. She nods.

“But I’ll need your help, and it won’t be easy,” she says as she turns to the rest of the crowd. “I’ll need you all to sit around the circle,” she turned back to setting up the rest of the circle while everyone else did as they were told. Derek kept a close on Lilith, watching as she her eyes began to fog over with the magic surrounding her.

“Derek, come into the circle with me,” she says without looking at him and moves into the circle where Stiles lays. He moves to the center as the rest of the pack closes their circle, sitting across from Lilith with Stiles between them. In this moment where there is only candle light to illuminate the room, Derek realizes that Lilith is the spitting image of her mother.

“Derek, give me your left hand and place your right one on Stiles’ chest,” she tells him as she places her right one on Stiles’ chest and holds out her left hand. He connects fingers with the girl and places his other on Stiles’ chest. “Now, what I am going to do is pull some of your energy, pull it into me then push it into Stiles. It’s going to hurt.

Her eyes are dark as they gaze into his. He nods. Lilith then leans back, sitting up straight and closes her eyes, shoulders relaxing. Her lips start moving as she mumbles words that Derek can’t understand, then suddenly, a searing pain is pulling at his chest, ripping. A gasp leaves his lips and he hunches over.

“Keep strong and don’t let go,” is the only advice Lilith gives the entire ritual, continuing to mumble in unfamiliar words. The pain keeps up for a minute before it feels like Derek gets shot, Lilith’s eyes snapping open, her eyes white.

“ _T_ _u autem spiritus habitans in latere altero_ _,_ _puero auxilium corpus restituere_ ,” Lilith’s voice is clear now as she states the phrase, her voice strong as the pain in Derek pulses. Stiles’ mouth opens and he gasps, a whimper escaping his lips. Derek can feel his eyes glow red and his teeth elongate as his shift takes place without his permission. “ _H_ _oc usus est potentia creaturae interfectis_ ,” the candle flames shoot up to eye level, the heat astounding. Electricity and magic buzz through the air around them. Light begins to emit from all of Stiles’ wounds, a soft gold spilling from the edges. Derek can feel Stiles’ heartbeat beneath his fingers as Lilith’s spell continues, the same light glowing where the sleeves of her dress covers her near her collar bone and from his veins in his hands. The pain grows stronger than ever as the young witch recites the last words. “ _In nomine Dei_ _,_ _cura puero hoc_.”

The bullet-like pain in his chest shatters as Stiles jolts up, eyes wide and wild as he inhales sharply. Lilith lets go and so does Derek as everyone’s eyes are trained on what is before them.

“ _Tenebris est super nos_ ,” the words fly out of Stiles’ mouth so quickly that Derek barely has time to register them before Stiles is passing out onto the floor. Derek’s arms shoot out to prevent his head from hitting the wood floor, slowly lowering his body to the ground. Any cuts and gashes that he had have disappeared, no evidence of what happened on his skin. Lilith is panting heavily, sweat beading down the side of her face, clearly drained from the exertion of the spell. The room is silent for a moment as the witch catches her breath, a few minutes passing before she sits straight again.

“Well, he should be fine now,” she says, turning to John. “I would like to keep Stiles over night to make sure the spell holds, and maybe even to talk to him about his spark.”

“You’ve said that word before. What is it?” Lydia asks, her eyes focused even through what she just witnessed.

“Some people have a lineage of witches and mages, and it seems that Stiles is one of those people. And I have never seen a spark so strong when its host was so weak. If it is okay with you, and if he agrees when he wakes, I would like to be his teacher,” Lilith says, standing up and going around to put out the candles. The Sheriff nods.

“That’s all up to him.”

“I understand,” she turns to Derek. “Let’s take Stiles to the guest room. Who is going to stay with him?”

“I won’t be able to, have to go to the station,” John answers, his face sullen. Nobody else speaks up, most likely because the teens have their own duties to do with Thanksgiving coming soon. But Derek doesn’t

“I’ll stay.”

“Good, follow me.”

Her dress sways with each step she takes, and Derek now notices that she’s been bare foot the entire ordeal. He scoops Stiles into his arms, following her. She takes them down to the end of the hall, opening the door, revealing a queen-sized bed, a nightstand and a dresser with a mirror. Simple but cozy. She pulls the sheets and comforter back and Derek walks past her, gently laying Stiles onto the bed, pulling the sheets up around him. Lilith stares at Stiles for a moment.

“When he sat up, he said something. What did he say?” Derek asks, eyes staying on the boy’s sleeping figure.

“ _Darkness is upon us_ ,” Lilith doesn’t hold the truth back, her voice soft. “We can ask him when he wakes.” She turns to leave but Derek catches her arm.

“Thank you, for saving him,” he says as their eyes meet. She gives a soft smile.

“You’re welcome,” she pauses. “I’m not angry with you, Derek. The fire wasn’t your fault, and I’ve recognized that. My mother wouldn’t have wanted me to hold a grudge over you, and I wouldn’t have been able to have one anyways. I’ve known you for too long to blame you for what happened to us. I’m just disappointed that you haven’t talked to me sooner about it.” Her words strike a chord in Derek. He can only nod.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come here sooner, and that I only came here because there was a life on the line.”

“You’re forgiven, as long as you come to talk to me more often,” she gives a smile that he hasn’t seen since before the fire. “You know where the other guest room is.” Lilith leaves the room with her words hanging in the air.


	2. chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles meets the girl who saved his life and where her family comes from.

Stiles wakes with a headache from hell; it’s like a freight train rain through his skull and left thousands of pounds of explosives in its wake.

He groans and rolls over, burying his face into the pillow next to him as he stretches. His body is buzzing with heat; his toes are even warm. There’s a heavy pressure on him and he already knows that it’s not his comforter since his is not nearly this weighted. He peels an eye open, lazily ghosting it around the room, taking in the décor of the rustic bedroom. The bed he lays in sits on an iron frame and an old dresser and mirror sits across from him. There’s even a dusty guitar sitting in the far corner of the room by the door.

Bones crack from disuse as he sits up, breathing deeply once he’s upright. He tries to remember back to why the hell he’s in an unfamiliar room when he’s hit with the memory of what happened last night. A bear attacked him and he should be dead. But he’s not. Or is he? He doesn’t know this room and when looks at his arm and lifts his shirt, there’s no scarring from the bear’s teeth and claws. Nothing. Is he dead and doesn’t know it?

He pulls the sheets from his legs, the cold air making his skin pebble. He jumps up in a flurry, almost hitting the floor when his legs feel like jello from disuse. He looks at what he’s wearing and sees that he’s in his pair of maroon Beacon Hills High sweatpants and a grey t-shirt. Someone changed him.

He pulls open the door and sticks his head out, looking up and down the hallway and immediately the scent of bacon and pancakes hits him full force. He follows the smell numbly before the hallway opens to a living room and a kitchen behind it, a girl around his age in a knee length dress putting a pancake on a plate full with others. Soft music is playing from a speaker on the counter and Stiles recognizes it from _The Walking Dead_ ; _Blackbird’s Song_.

The girl picks up the plates of bacon and pancakes and when her eyes meet Stiles, she gives a soft smile.

“Good morning,” she says and lifts the plates a tad higher. “I made breakfast.” She turns to the right and sets the food onto a cherry wood dining table. Cautiously, Stiles slowly makes his way over to the table and pulls out a chair from the side of the table, sitting down. Stiles uses this time to take in where he’s at.

The house is small but filled with trinkets and knick knacks, making the small place cozy. Plants hang from the ceiling and tall, white candles litter nearly every surface. The storm door is propped open, allowing the cool morning air to come in through the screen door. The girl comes back from the kitchen with a tray of plates, glasses and a glass pitcher of orange juice, setting them down in front of she and Stiles. She pulls out the two plates and sets one down in front of him, along with a glass and silverware. She sits down and scoots her chair in further and uses a fork to pick off a pancake from the top of the stack. Stiles stays frozen in his spot.

“You can ask me questions, you know. I’m not going to bite,” she says without stopping her movements. Stiles takes a breath.

“Who are you, why am I here and am I dead?” The words spill out of Stiles’ mouth so fast that the girl’s eyebrows raise in amusement.

“No, you are not dead. My name is Lilith Rosewood. I use to be close with Derek and his family before the fire and he had brought you here after he found you in the woods. He brought you here because I am a witch,” she answers slowly, allowing the information to set in Stiles’ head.

“So, what did you do to me?”

“I pulled some of Derek’s energy from him and pushed it into you, allowing you to heal,” she pauses. “Are you aware of your spark?” she asks and Stiles’ eyes flick to the table. Stiles is very aware of it since he used it to save Cora when she was on the brink of death. He nods.

“If you want, I can teach you how to control and use it.” Stiles head whips over to Lilith, a slight smirk adorning her lips. Stiles opens his mouth to answer when the screen door opens and Derek steps into the house. He freezes mid-step when his eyes land on Stiles. Derek’s clad in jeans, a grey t-shirt and his signature black leather jacket. The sight makes Stiles’ heart hammer in his chest.

“Ah, Derek, you’re back. Breakfast?” Lilith asks and Derek’s eyes peel from Stiles, settling on the teenage witch.

“Sure,” he says and toes off his shoes at the front door before shrugging off his jacket. Stiles’ blood is still rushing through his ears when Derek sits down and he knows that the werewolf can hear his pounding heart, but Derek doesn’t show if he does. Derek pulls a plate out of the basket that Lilith had brought in earlier and loaded some pancakes onto it, proceeding to drown them in syrup. Stiles can see Lilith take a large forkful from her stack, putting them in her mouth with ease. There’s a comfortable happiness on her face, like she and Derek have been doing this for years.

“So, uh, do you live alone?” Stiles asks before shoving a piece of pancake into his mouth. The other two look at the human.

“I do. Have since I turned sixteen,” Lilith answers smoothly, taking a drink of her orange juice. Stiles furrows his eyebrows in confusion. How could she be living by herself? She’s a minor. “I was emancipated from my uncle by the state.” Oh, that’s why. Stiles looks down at his plate, unsure of what to say next. Why would the state emancipate her from her uncle? He looks back up to find Derek’s eyes still on him, making Stiles’ face go red. He looks back at his plate quickly, shoving pieces of bacon into his mouth. Lilith giggles next to him, causing Stiles to look at her in confusion. Her brown eyes glance over to him, giving a wink before speaking.

“So, what do you think?” she asks, resting her arms on the table.

"About what?”

“About me tutoring you,” she answers smoothly. Stiles shrugs.

“I mean, it’s not something that I’ve actively considered. I only used my spark once, and that was with Deaton’s help.” Stiles fiddles with the edge of a napkin as he speaks, thinking back to when Cora had been laying on her death bed.

“Would you like to know more about what you would be doing?” Lilith offers and Stiles finally looks up again, nodding. “Alright, I’ll be right back.” She gets up from the table and walks over to where the hallway is, disappearing around the corner, leaving Stiles and Derek alone . . . together. Stiles’ heartbeat starts picking up when he realizes this.

It’s stupid. He’s seventeen and going on eighteen in a few months. A simple high school crush shouldn’t affect him so much, but it _does_. He’s been completely head over heels for Derek since he saw him in the woods that first day back to school in January. The worst part is that he can’t even tell if Derek knows this or not, and it’s driving him insane with the thought that Derek could just straight up be ignoring him. All Stiles has done is given lingering stares and suggestive comments that could just be Stiles being Stiles. He’s done what he’s comfortable with and Derek should be able to pick up on the chemosignals that Scott keeps talking about, but either he is and doesn’t want to acknowledge them or he just straight up isn’t interested in Stiles. But he should be over Derek by now. _It’s just a silly crush._

“How are you feeling?” Derek’s voice pulls Stiles out of his thoughts, his eyes glancing up to meet Derek’s. The man’s gaze is soft and steady, like the last twenty-four hours didn’t happen. Like Stiles didn’t _almost die._

“I feel fine, actually. I don’t feel any different or anything and there’s no scars so, I’m fine.” Stiles leans back into his chair, crossing his arms over his stomach as he slouches. His plate is near empty now, save for the few stray pieces of burnt bacon on the side. Derek hums in response, putting another piece of bacon into his mouth. It makes Stiles skin vibrate just watching the innocent act, but the way Derek’s lips move does something to Stiles. He looks away as he feels himself start to blush. Lilith has the perfect timing to come back in with the book she was talking about. It looks old, but well-kept and cared for as time passed. She sets it down in front of Stiles, a sort of glint in her eyes.

“This grimoire has been with my family for centuries, dating back to the first of the Rosewoods coming to America in 1672. It holds everything the witches of my family have been taught and some of what our history as witches is. I would be happy for you to read through it to allow you to make a clear decision.” A tone of excitement and happiness seeps into her words as she explains what the book is. It’s like her history and heritage makes her proud of who she is. Like she’s proud to be _what_ she is.

Stiles flips open the cover of the book, taking in the smell and sight of weathered, yellow pages and a family seal. A phoenix is imprinted into the wax, wings spread high and wide as flames burst from every surface on its body. It’s empowering. He glances up, his eyes meeting Lilith’s excited ones as she nods in earnest. He continues to the next page, taking in the swirling script of the Rosewood ancestors. _Witchcraft is not only for the dark-hearted and the lost, but for the ones filled with hope and compassion that do what they can to make things better.  -M.R._

“Mary Rosewood; the first of the Rosewoods to break away from the traditional form of magic,” Lilith explains. Stiles nods and turns the yellowed page. _Magic in the Old World._

Witchcraft in England was heavy in a few select villages, the leaders being old witches. Everything was fine until Charles II ordered for all witches to be persecuted, making Addison and Jon Rosewood flee their home with their four-year-old son while Addison was pregnant with Mary.

The settled in Massachusetts and Mary was born a month after their arrival in the New World. But of course, things couldn’t stay perfect forever. When she was twelve, Mary lost everything to a Wendigo attack. She lost her parents, her older brother and her baby sister. She was taken in by a Native American tribe that resided in New England, teaching her their ways and beliefs. She did eventually return to the town where she was brought up, having decided that she needed to know more to perfect her magic. She was part of the Salem Witch Trails, able to escape with her life and a man named Eli Hartley. They went north to Maine, residing in a cabin in the woods, away from prying eyes and those out to rid the land of witches. They married, Eli taking on Mary’s last name since she was the last of her family, and had three children in their lifetime; a boy and two girls. Then the lineage eventually moved to California with the gold rush and met the Hale pack. And the rest is history.

“My mom and dad were in the Hale house when the fire happened. I was on my way to the party for the Wolf Moon with my Uncle Shawn on my father’s side when we saw the flames through the trees. Derek was running to the house when we pulled up. Shawn ran up to stop him from running into the house, leaving me in the car to watch as everything I knew go up into flames.” Stiles looks up from the book, watching as Lilith explains why she lives alone now. His eyes flick over to Derek, his face empty. “Shawn took me in, but he became depressed enough to where he wasn’t able to function,” she continues, her eyes flicking over to the kitchen window. “I had to learn how to look out for myself, did so for five years and then asked the court for emancipation from him. And now nearly a year and a half later I’m living steadily on my own. I’m happy like this and I can do what I want without worrying about repercussions.” She looks back over to Stiles, her gaze sullen.

“I didn’t know about your uncle,” Derek says and Stiles looks over to him, watching as the alpha’s eyes become pained.

“Well, you didn’t exactly try to come talk to me now did you?” Lilith’s words are sharp as she snaps at Derek. She sighs and leans back in the chair, running her fingers through her hair. “Do you remember what I told you at the sheriff’s station?” she asks softly, eyes closed. Derek stiffens across the table.

“Yes.”

“When I took your hand, and said that I didn’t blame you, that I didn’t want you to blame yourself and for you to talk to someone about it. As an eleven-year-old I expected you to do that. I expected you to let go of whatever negative thoughts you were harboring and get _better_ , not shut everyone out,” she pauses. “But you didn’t get better. You and Laura moved to _New York_ of all places, and proceeded to forget about everything and everyone you left behind. That wasn’t fair, Derek. I may not blame you for the fire, but I do blame you for acting like a coward and forgetting me.” Her words are filled with pain, but even through this she doesn’t get angry. But she does get up and leave the table, the chair legs scratching across the wood floor, leaving Stiles and Derek at the table in the aftermath.

Stiles picks at his pants as a heavy silence settles between the two of them, Stiles heart beating in his ears. He doesn’t know what to say, what could possibly be said to break this heavy feeling left from Lilith? And how could an eleven-year-old have known what the cause of the fire was? Was it a witch thing where they just know?

Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles sees a grey blur come rushing at the house from outside. He turns his head and watches as a longhaired grey cat comes bursting into the house as it pushes the screen door open. It skids to a stop, flicking its head around frantically, searching for something. It stops fidgeting when it sees Stiles, its green eyes meeting his brown ones.

“Uh, Derek,” he says lowly, trying to keep his voice low to avoid startling the cat. It doesn’t move for several moments until Lilith comes back into the room from hearing the slam of the door. The cat races over to Lilith, climbing up her jeans and onto the shoulder of her shirt. Once the cat is comfortably perched on her shoulder, it starts rubbing its cheek where Lilith’s neck and jaw meet, purring loudly.

“What in the _holy hell_ is that?” Stiles breaks the silence, watching as Lilith pets the cat affectionately. The witch looks over, a smile replacing the frown that was on her lips just a minute earlier.

“This is Tasha, my Maine Coon and Norwegian Forest Cat mix,” Lilith answers, looking back to the ball of fur on her shoulder.

“I get that much but why on Earth she just burst through the door like a fucking bullet?”

“Well, Tasha-girl here is just an extremely hyperactive fur ball. She usually runs around outside until I call her in for the night, but I guess she knew that you were here.” The cat purrs louder as Lilith scratches behind her ear. Stiles nods and looks at the clock. _10:16._

“Lilith, thank you so much for breakfast and allowing me to read your family history but I think my dad would appreciate it if I came home,” Stiles says, getting up from his chair picking up his plate to put by the sink.

“Oh, it was no problem, I haven’t cooked for someone in a long while. And take the grimoire, give yourself some more knowledge on witchcraft. Just come to me if you have any questions.” She smiles and walks over to the table, quickly picking up the empty plate and setting them in the basket. She doesn’t look at Derek on her way to the kitchen.

 

The car ride home was tense to say the least. Stiles tried making conversation with Derek but the alpha didn’t answer to anything, not even an indication that he was listening. It was like Derek was either completely consumed by his thoughts or he wasn’t thinking of anything at all.

Derek’s FJ Cruiser slowed to a stop in front of Stiles’ house, the engine still rumbling. Stiles looks at Derek who was already looking at the boy, his green eyes hooded.

“Um, thanks for the ride,” Stiles mumbles as he unbuckles himself, pushing the door open to leave. A hand grabs his wrist and Stiles turns to head to Derek again, confused.

“What?” he asks, his heart beating faster under Derek’s intense stare. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but he shuts his mouth and looks away, letting go of Stiles.

“Just stay out of trouble,” Derek says without meeting Stiles’ eyes, his voice void of emotion. Stiles can feel his heart fall at the man’s words. He nods and pushes himself out of the car, feet shuffling against the concrete as he walks up the drive way to the front door. He pushes down the urge to look behind him as he hears Derek speed off.

His dad is home, surprisingly. The Sheriff is sitting at the dining room table with different files spread across the wood. He looks up and a large smile spreads across his face. He jumps up and engulfs his son in a bear hug.

“You gave me quite the scare there, Stiles,” John says and let’s go, holding Stiles out to where he can get a good look at him.

“Yeah well, it’s not every day a bear comes crashing through the back door, now is it?” Stiles gives a lopsided grin to his father, looking at the now-fixed door.

“Stiles,” the Sheriff starts, now serious. “Why didn’t you call me instead of Derek?” he asks.

 _Because I didn’t want to lose you._ “Because Derek was the last one I had texted,” Stiles lies right through his teeth, not willing to give his father the real answer.

John gives his son a look before nodding, believing the answer.

“Just, if anything like that happens again, call me.” Stiles nods at the statement, looking down at the book in his hands. “What’s that?”

“The Rosewood grimoire,” Stiles answers, fingers brushing over the title engraved in the old leather. His father nods and looks over at the pile of papers on the dining room table.

“Well, I’m going to get back to work. Do you want to order in tonight?” John asks and Stiles nods.

“Chinese?”

“Yeah, we can do Chinese,” John gives his son a weary smile before going back to the kitchen where papers were scattered across the table.

“But you’re getting the vegetable lo mein!” Stiles shouts and his father chuckles.

“Wouldn’t expect anything less, kiddo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for waiting so patiently! I hope you enjoyed and please point out any errors.

**Author's Note:**

> tu autem spiritus habitans in latere altero puero auxilium corpus restituere. hoc usus est potentia creaturae interfectis. in nomine Dei cura puero hoc.  
> i call out to the spirits residing on the other side, help restore this boy's body. take this creature's power and use it on the wounded. in the name of God, heal this boy.
> 
> tenebris est super nos,  
> darkness is upon us.


End file.
